House of Sand and Fog
by Faolin
Summary: An island, a house, a grave. Sark centered, also SS.


Title: House of Sand and Fog  
  
Rating: PG-13, I'd say.  
  
Summary: An island, a house, a grave.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except my own ideas.  
  
A/N: For the Sark Challenge at SD-1.  
  
House of Sand and Fog  
  
With insomnia, nothing is real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. That's how it was for Sark. Night after night, day after day, he did his job, did what the Covenant told him to do. Did what the people who stole his inheritance, 800 million dollar inheritance, because he wanted it back. Not that he needed it, he had plenty of money, but it was still his. And no one stole from Sark without paying for it. But he knew some people thought of him as a lapdog, someone who needed a master. Or at least that's what Sydney Bristow thought.  
  
You're just a dog looking for a master.  
  
Her voice rang in his ears. He shook the thoughts from his head and stood from the bed he had been lying on. He walked over to one of the many windows located in his house. He had inherited it from his mother, when he was only 18. It was located on Cocos Island, known to the Spanish as "La Isla Del Coco", island of the coconut, right off of Costa Rica. The island wasn't inhabited by people other then the park Rangers, a few fishermen, and Sark of course.  
  
His mother had lived almost her entire life on the island. Her father had been a fisherman there and had married a French tourist, her mother, his grandmother. They had all lived on the island up until she had turned ten, and then her mother had left, saying she needed to return to her homeland. So she did, leaving his mother behind. She had been raised by her father, and the other fishermen's families. She had always told him that you didn't have to be blood related to be family. Which was something he believed was true, even though he had none.  
  
Oddly enough, his mother had married a Russian tourist when she was twenty. A man named Andrian Lazarey, a Russian diplomat. He had taken her back to Russia with him, where they lived for five years. In that fifth year, she had become pregnant. Not wanting her child to be born in Russia, she fled to Ireland, where a family friend lived. She had delivered her child, a son, Julian Lazarey, on March eleventh.  
  
After he had been born, they had lived there for a year, then finally went back to Russia. Andrian had been furious, but forgave her for running off. She had only stayed there with him because of Julian; otherwise she would have fled home. She became depressed, wanting to go back to her home, to her father, to the island. Andrian had finally been fed up with her and told her to go visit, and she had, bringing Julian along with her.  
  
His first trip to the Island had been when he was eight. He could still remember the story his mother used to tell him while they walked down the beach on sunny days.  
  
"Do you know this Island has buried treasure, Julian?" She asked the little blond haired boy as they walked down the beach barefoot, holding hands. He looked up at her.  
  
"Really?" He asked with bright blues eyes.  
  
"Oui." She said with a smile. She was fluent in French and Spanish, and had taught Julian both. He had been eager to learn them, and for some reason, preferred French. "Back when pirates sailed the seas, it was said that a pirate by the name of William Thompson from the Peruvian capital, came to this Island on his ship, the Cutty Sark. He buried all of his treasures on this island."  
  
"Pourquoi enterreraient-ils ils sont des trésors?*" He asked, picking up a shell off the sand.  
  
"Très bon, Julian. You're French is perfect." She said, scuffing his hair up with a smile. "Why? Because they didn't want anyone else to have it."  
  
"So they hid it?" He asked, confused. "What did they do then?"  
  
"They looked for more." She said.  
  
"I would have bought a huge house for you and me to live in." He said, smiling at her.  
  
"Pourquoi? Le nôtre est assez pas grand pour vous?**" She asked, grinning at him.  
  
"No, our house is big enough." He said. "I guess I would have done something else with it. But I wouldn't have buried it."  
  
"If you bury something, Julian, you can hide it from other people. You can hide it forever." She said, looking out at the vast ocean laid out before them. "A jamais, Julian."  
  
They had stayed there for a quite awhile, and were preparing to leave when his grandfather had gotten sick. He died weeks later, and his mother had been devastated. Everything his grandfather owned went to his mother, including the house.  
  
His mother become so depressed, that he had come home one night and found her in the bathroom, blood everywhere. She had slit her wrist, trying to end her life. He had called a neighbor, who in turn called for emergency services. A helicopter had come, collecting his mother and him and bringing them to the mainland. At the hospital he found his father waiting, someone had contacted him, being the only living relative.  
  
He never could forget that night. The night his mother had died. The night he left the hospital with a man he barely knew. The night his old life ended and a new one began. The very next day his father sent him to live with a woman named Irina Derevko. His father had told him she was a friend of the family, and that she would teach him everything he needed to know.  
  
And she had. He learned English, math, history, science, etc. But along with that she taught him fighting skills; she had even sent him to India for a year to study meditation.  
  
He became Sark the first night he killed a man.  
  
He became Irina Derevko's second hand when he was 16.  
  
He had once been on a mission in France, about to kill a man, after killing everyone else in the room. The man had asked him how he could do it. Murder them all without even blinking. He had looked the man straight in the eye.  
  
"Pourquoi pas?" Why not, had been his response, then he had pulled the trigger, ending the man's pathetic life. But the question had sent him back to the place his mother had killed herself. Back to the only place he could ever find peace. That had been seven years ago. Now he was back again. Back to the Island, back to the house.  
  
He pushed himself off from the window sill, walking down the stairs and into the kitchen. He pulled a glass out from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink. He sat down at the old oak table. The table had been here as long as the house. It had scars, just like him.  
  
He laughed at the thought. "Comparing yourself to a table now, Julian?" He shook his head, glancing outside. The sun was rising, a beautiful sight on the Island. He stood, dropping his empty glass into the sink on his way out. He stopped into his room for some clothes, tan slacks, and a white button shirt. His feet where bare as he walked outside, making his way past the beach and onto the hillside, where he walked a path that hadn't been walked on for years.  
  
For seven years he had kept himself away from this island. The island that his mother was buried on, the island she had loved. The only place where he could let down the facade known as Sark, where he could wonder what his life would have been like if he had remained Julian.  
  
He finally came to a stop when he reached his destination. His mother's grave. It read –  
  
Claire Marquez Lazarey  
  
January 14, 1954 – April 6, 1986  
  
Loving mother, daughter, and wife.  
  
He knelt down in front of the stone, running his hand over the engraving. "Hello, mother." He whispered softly, sitting back on his heels he clasped his hands together. "It's been quite awhile." A gust of wind blew by, rustling his hair.  
  
"Seven years." He said, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose your wondering why I haven't come to visit. Maybe I've been busy. Or maybe I'm afraid you won't like the man I've become." He stood, turning away from the grave.  
  
"I'm not a good person." He said, turning back around. "I've become someone who kills, who steals, who lies. It's what I do for a living." A bitter laugh comes from his throat. "Remember when I told you I wanted to be a pirate when I grew up? I suppose I am one, in a way. That's what a pirate does, right? Kill, steal, lie, and bury their treasure. And I guess in a way, you are my treasure, mother. I buried you, metaphorically, physically, maybe both. I buried you; put you in a place where no one would ever find you. Not even myself." He sighed.  
  
"The person that I am today is a person that I never wanted to be." He said, kneeling by the grave again. "And I can't...I could blame other people, you, dad, Irina. But when it comes down to it, I know that's not true. What I've become is because of me—"His voice broke off, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "But I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be what I've created. I don't want to be Sark. I want to be Julian. But I don't know how to do that, mom." He stopped, bringing his palms to cover his eyes. He swallowed twice before continuing.  
  
"I don't know how to do that. How do destroy a person you've created when it's yourself?" He asked desperately. "There's only one thing I can think of, and that's something that I swore I would never do. I swore it to you the day you died. The day I found you in that bathroom...You took your own life, and that's something I could never do."  
  
"I honestly never thought that it would be hard. I never thought that I'd ever actually..." he stopped, glancing up at the sky, the sun shining brightly. "Have the desire to end my own life. But I won't. Not in the way you did...But I want to end Sark's life. I've been him for so long; it's hard to remember what it was like to be Julian. That's all I want, to be Julian." He looked back at the grave.  
  
"Becoming Julian means destroying Sark, and that's not going to be easy." His hand ran through his hair, over his face, dropping to his side. "But I'm going to do it. Pour vous, for you, la mère. Even if that means I'll be joining you sooner then expected." He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on the gravestone.  
  
"Je vous aime.***" He said softly, running his hand over the grave once more before standing and walking back to the house. And so it begins, his mind told him, the path to redemption.  
  
---  
  
"You've been following me for the past 20 minutes." Sydney Bristow said, removing her sunglasses to stare at him. "What do you want?" He had arrived in Las Angeles earlier that afternoon. He took his private jet to the mainland first, then flew there. He didn't need anyone finding out about the house on the island.  
  
"Can't I just say hi to an old friend?" He asked, removing his sunglasses as well.  
  
"No," She said, "not when you happen to be on the most wanted list."  
  
"Of course," He said, "What number am I now? Four? Five?"  
  
"Three." She said offhandedly, glancing around. "You can't be here, anyone could see you."  
  
"Looking out for my well-being now, Sydney?" He asked with a smirk. "How kind of you."  
  
"More like looking out for my own investments." She said with her own smirk. "If anyone finds out I'm working with you...this isn't something you can take lightly, Sark. I only agreed to work with you for information. That doesn't mean you can follow me around in broad daylight."  
  
"I can assure you, Sydney, I was quite careful about following you." He said, slipping his sunglasses back on. He handed her a white envelope. "We need to go to Moscow tonight, the information is in there. Cheers." And with a nod of his head, he was gone. Sydney glanced down at the envelope, sighing. What had she gotten herself into?  
  
---  
  
"I assume you read over all the information." Sark said, glancing out the window of his private jet. He was seated on a red sofa, Sydney across from him on the black one.  
  
"Of course," She replied, not evening looking up from the papers she was reading. "This man-"  
  
"Viktor Petrovich." He filled in for her.  
  
"Yes," She said, throwing him an annoyed glance. "How are we getting this key from him?"  
  
"As you know, the key is a small disc, which is located in the side of his neck." He said, reaching for a black bag on the table between them, he pulled out what looked like a pen. "This will remove the key."  
  
"I'm guessing I get to be the one to stick it in his neck." She said with a grimace.  
  
"Yes," He said, throwing the pen at her. She caught it and put it in her bag. "But don't be too upset, he's...not a good man, Sydney."  
  
"What? And you are?" She asked coldly, standing. It was silent for awhile, Sark sitting and Sydney pacing around. He stood and came to stand in front of her. She was pushed up against the wall, Sark's arms on either side of her.  
  
"I never said," He whispered, "That I was a good man, Sydney." He moved his face until it was only a hair away from hers. "In fact..." He brought his mouth to her ear. "I'm probably the worst. But-" She tried to push him away, but he grabbed her arms, trapping them against the wall. She tried bringing her knee up, but he pushed his body into hers. Trapped, she went rigid, ignoring the feel of his body flat against hers.  
  
"Get off of me." She finally grit out, her hands turning into fists.  
  
"Not until you let me finish." He said calmly.  
  
"Fine," She said, "finish."  
  
"But, I'm trying to make up for that." He said, pulling back to look in her eyes. "The things that hide in the darkness, I'm one of them. I've done things you can't even imagine, Sydney. Things that are so horrible..." He trailed off, closing his eyes.  
  
"The longest road in the world is the road to redemption." He said, "And right now, that's where I'm traveling. And truthfully... it bloody sucks." She couldn't help but smile at that. She may hate the man, but at least he was trying.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" She asked the question that had been plaguing her for awhile now. "If the Covenant found out you were double crossing them, they'd kill you."  
  
"I'm doing this because I made a promise," He said, opening his eyes. "One I intend to keep, even if it kills me." He backed away from her, walking over to a door near them.  
  
"We'll be arriving soon; I'll leave you to get ready." And with that, he was gone.  
  
---  
  
Sark pulled the black Jaguar to a stop outside the huge house the party was taking place in. After stepping out of the car, a bellhop jumped in barely waiting for Sydney to get out before speeding off. Sydney raised an eyebrow at Sark before they made their way inside. He could feel the stares as they walked through the doors, which wasn't surprising. They were a stunning couple, Sark clad in a black Armani original, and Sydney in a beautiful silky gray floor length dress.  
  
"Did I mention how stunning you look tonight?" He whispered in her ear. He could feel her smile as she whispered back.  
  
"Yes," She said, "but you better close your mouth, your attracting flies." He smirked at that. They made their way over to where Viktor was standing, chatting with people.  
  
"Hello, my name is David Berrien" Sark said once they had reached him.  
  
"Hello, I am Viktor," The man said, smiling. He took Sydney's hand, kissing it. "And who is this lovely creature?"  
  
"That would be my wife, Isabelle." He replied with a smile, slipping a hand around her waist.  
  
"Such a beautiful couple you make." He said, taking a sip from the drink he had. Sark just smirked, this would be too easy.  
  
---  
  
"So what are we doing with this key?" Sydney asked from her seat on the jet. After retrieving the key, they had quickly made an exit. They were now on the jet, flying to Paris.  
  
"We're opening something." Sark replied, his eyes glued to the window again.  
  
"Sark..."  
  
"We're opening a vault that contains information concerning the Covenant." He said, glancing at her. "Information that could destroy them."  
  
"I doubt the CIA is going to give you a pardon." She said, fingering the pencil in her hands.  
  
"I don't expect them too," He said quietly.  
  
"Right." She said, looking down at the paper she had been writing on. She flipped the pencil over, erasing her words. She didn't tell him what she was working on, he didn't ask. The rest of the flight was spent in silence.  
  
---  
  
They arrived in Paris hours later, having changed into tactical gear already; they took the black BMW that was waiting at the airport to the location of the vault. They parked a block away, walking in the alleys behind the buildings to get there. After easily breaking the lock, they entered the building.  
  
"Second floor," Sark said, quietly making his way to the stairs. Sydney followed suit, and they walked into the first door on the left once there. The room was large, and had a huge metal vault door in the back of it.  
  
"I'm going to go get the other discs," He said, glancing around. "Can you handle getting this one?"  
  
"Yes." She said, already slipping the disc they had taken from Viktor into the opening.  
  
"We meet at the safe house." Sark said, "I-"He stopped, reaching his hand over, he flipped her around, pushing her against the vault door. He pressed his mouth on hers, kissing her soundly. He pulled back after a moment.  
  
"See you later." Sark said with a smirk, disappearing out the door. Sydney stood there, shocked, but after a moment a smile came over her features. Shaking her head, she got to work.  
  
---  
  
Sydney retrieved her disc, slipping it into her pocket. She quietly made her way out the door, gun in hand. She was almost to the door when she heard people approaching to her right.  
  
"Sark, I've got company." She whispered into her earpiece, glancing around behind her. She kept walking, hoping she could get out before they saw her.  
  
"Can you handle it?" His voice sounded in her ear. "I'm almost done with the discs."  
  
"Yeah, I'll be fine." She said, smirking. "I was just warning you, incase you got worried." She could feel his own smirk as he replied.  
  
"How kind of you." She was almost down the stairs when she heard the shouting.  
  
"Arrêt!" Stop, the voices shouted. Sydney shook her head, peeking around the corner. A bullet whizzed past her ear, making her fly back. She stuck her arm around, firing off two shots.  
  
"Sydney!" She heard Sark's voice over the bullets. "You need to get out, now! The building is going to explode."  
  
"What?" She asked, confused. "Why?"  
  
"There was an explosive we didn't know about, it's hooked up to the entire building." He said quickly, "Once the system hears guns being fired, it'll detonate in five minutes."  
  
"Shit! What do we have? Two minutes?" She asked, firing off another round. It didn't matter if she shot now.  
  
"Less." He replied, "Get out now."  
  
"Fine," She said, making a run for the stairs. "I'll meet you outside." She was almost to the stairs when a bullet grazed her arm, making grimace, but she kept running. She made it outside, and stopped, waiting for Sark.  
  
"Sark, hurry up!" She yelled, holding onto her arm.  
  
"I'm coming-"He was cut off as the building exploded, and Sydney was thrown back, hitting the pavement hard. She stood quickly, gazing at the huge fire.  
  
"Sark!" She yelled, "Sark, where are you?"  
  
Silence.  
  
She swallowed, grabbing her arm again. He's gone; her mind told her, remembering what he had said earlier.  
  
"I'm doing this because I made a promise. One I intend to keep, even if it kills me."  
  
She couldn't stop the tears as they rolled down her face. He was gone.  
  
---  
  
"Yesterday we received the medical reports from an explosion that occurred in Paris. They found five bodies, one that belonged to Julian Sark. He was apparently getting information to use against the Covenant. Somehow he got the information to a contact of his before the building exploded, who was told to give it to us. We believe Sark was going to use this information to obtain a pardon from the US government. Either way, this man, evil as he may have been, has just given us the means to an end for the Covenant."  
  
---  
  
5 months later...  
  
The sun was shining brightly as Julian to a sip from the wine glass he was holding. Chateau Pertreuse '82, his favorite, one thing he and Sark did have in common. He was sitting on a chair on the deck behind his house, looking out at the beach. His sunglasses reflected the sparkling blue ocean as the waves crashed against the shore.  
  
Five months ago he had faked his death, and luckily, it had worked. He was a free man, Sark was dead, and Julian was alive. After 20 years, he could finally live in peace. He was living on the island, in the house that had haunted him for years, but was now the house that he could finally rest in. Find peace in.  
  
He did regret not telling Sydney. But he knew if it was going to work, no one could know. But he missed her smile, her comments, he just missed her. But other then that, everything was perfect. He spent his days reading, painting, cooking, and walking around the island. And oddly enough, he was actually friends with his neighbors, the fishermen and Rangers.  
  
He stood, picking up his glass and the bottle of wine. Making his way into the house he set the glass in the sink, the bottle in the wine cooler. He opened the fridge, pondering what to make for dinner when he noticed something. A glass of water was resting on the old oak table, a glass that he hadn't put there.  
  
Shutting the fridge quietly, he moved over to a drawer to the right of the fridge. Opening it, he reached in the back and pulled out a gun. Clicking the safety off, he slowly walked throughout the house. Nothing, the house was empty. He clicked the safety back on, and walked back into the kitchen. He was about to put the gun away when he noticed a figure sitting outside on the deck. Clicking the safety off again, he walked out through the French doors, stopping behind the person.  
  
"You should invest in a lock, Sark." The voice said, "It helps when you don't want people breaking into your house." He let out the breath he had been holding, clicking the safety on again. He sat down across from the person, shaking his head.  
  
"People usually knock around here." He said, setting the gun down on the table next to him. "You know I could have accidentally shot you."  
  
"Have you really gotten that trigger happy?" He smirked.  
  
"It's good to see you, Sydney." He said, "How did you find me?"  
  
"Well, it wasn't easy." She said, slipping the sunglasses off that she had been wearing. Five months and she hadn't changed much. Her brunette hair was longer now, and her skin was a bit darker. She had a black wavy skirt on that reached her knees, and a white spaghetti-strap top on. "But I remembered something you had said before, something about islands and coconuts. So I put two and two together, and here I am."  
  
"I guess I wasn't as careful as I thought." He said, glancing around.  
  
"No one knows where I am." She said, sensing his fear. "And no one followed me."  
  
"Right." He said, relaxing. "So tell me, Sydney, why did you feel the need to come and find me?"  
  
"I..." She trailed off, unsure.  
  
"What about your friends? Family?" He asked, gazing out at the water.  
  
"Will's gone, Vaughn's married, Weiss is getting married, and my father's gone off looking for Irina." She said, sighing. "I don't work for the CIA anymore. The Covenant's gone, destroyed."  
  
"So you decided to come visit me as a last resort?" He asked, not looking at her.  
  
"No." She said, standing she went over and sat down on the edge of his seat. "I came...I came because of what happened that night in Paris. You kissed me...maybe it was nothing, maybe it was. But you didn't give me a chance to respond either way. Why didn't you tell me what you were going to do? I could have helped-"  
  
"Sydney, I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He said, cutting her off. "But it was something I had to do, I told you before, I made a promise. Sark is dead, and I can finally live my life."  
  
"As Julian?" She asked softly.  
  
"As Julian." He repeated, looking up at her. "Sydney, that kiss...it wasn't nothing."  
  
"Then what was it?" She asked, leaning towards his face. He swallowed as her face came just centimeters from his.  
  
"It was..." He trailed off as their mouths connected. It was soft at first, then developed into more. He wrapped an arm around her waist, dragging her down on top of him. Sydney pulled back after a moment, pulling his sunglasses off his face. She smiled.  
  
"Much better," She said, placing a feather light kiss on his lips. "Now I can see you."  
  
"You couldn't before?" He asked, placing kisses along her neck.  
  
"No," She said, her smile getting wider. "You have the most expressive eyes, when you're not covering them." He pulled back, watching her face.  
  
"Stay here with me?" He asked, running a hand down the side of her face.  
  
"I will," She said, a solemn expression on her face. "But when my father comes back..."  
  
"When he does," Julian said, a smirk coming over his features. "We'll invite him over for dinner." Sydney couldn't help but laugh at that. "But for now..." He stood, pulling her up with him. "I want you to meet someone." And he led her up the hill, to the place where his road to redemption had begun.  
  
Next to the old grave on the hilltop, there was a stone which had one word engraved on it.  
  
Sark.  
  
Fin.  
  
-----  
  
*Why would they bury they're treasure?  
  
**Why? Ours is not big enough for you?  
  
And for people who don't know any French...  
  
Très bon - Very good  
  
A jamais - Forever  
  
Pour toi, la mère. - For you, mother.  
  
Je t'aime. - I love you.  
  
----- 


End file.
